Relapse
by deanambooty
Summary: A one-shot about the night Seth turns on The Shield, and how Dean tried to cope. (Could possibly be turned into more, if you like it.)


_What have I done with my heart on the floor?_

_I must be out of my mind to come back begging for more._

_But if you stay... If you just stay for the night..._

_Swear that I'm yours, and I'll prove that I'm right._

He tried to explain.

He tried to apologize.

He wanted forgiveness.

But Dean couldn't think. His mind was overflowing with the color red. He couldn't focus. He couldn't breathe. He wanted Seth. But he didn't want to hear his explanations, or his apologies. And he most certainly didn't want to hear him beg for forgiveness, because Dean had none to give. He didn't even look at the man he once called his brother as he passed. He was afraid to. Dean was outraged. He had just been humiliated and betrayed in front of a thousand people and on live television.

He wanted Seth. But he wanted Seth at his feet, half beaten to death with a metal chair that he could later autograph and auction off.

His back ached with each step he took, brushing passed the stage hands and arena employees. He had lost Roman in the crowd somewhere, but he didn't care. He wondered for a moment if Roman had been in on Seth's betrayal, but the thought quickly vanished when he saw his best friend sitting on the bench in the locker room, head in his hands.

Roman looked up.

Dean could see the pain in his eyes.

He felt the same way.

This was the end of their brotherhood. A year and a half of friendship thrown away, because their gimmick had gotten old. They knew it would come sooner or later, but this…

No one expected this.

He fumbled with the straps and zippers on his uniform. His shoulder was sore.

"I'm going to murder that prick." Roman said after a few moments of silence. But Dean shook his head. Right now wasn't the time to talk about it. The wound was too fresh.

His mind was still overflowing. A thousand thoughts running wild.

"Dean," Roman asked. He was concerned. "you okay, man?"

The simple answer was 'no'. "I need a drink."

"They're going to want an interview."

"They can go fuck themselves."

"Dean."

That was it. He snapped, punching the locker in front of him. "They want an interview?" He marched over to the door of the locker room, throwing it open to reveal a hallway full of cameras. "What do you want? Huh?" He asked. "You want a statement? Here's your statement: You tell that little backstabber that the next time I see him, I'm going to break his fucking spine."

He pushed his way through the crowd, knocking over one cameraman in the process. They let him go, though; turning their attention to Roman, who would probably approach the situation in a calmer manner than Dean ever could.

He was no stranger to Indianapolis. Back when he wrestled in the independent circuit, he would travel there sometimes. There was a bar around the corner called Kilroy's, it was within walking distance. He didn't really want to risk seeing any of the other guys in the parking deck, he just wanted to be alone.

There was chatter amongst the crowd. He could hear them whispering, 'is that Dean Ambrose'. A few of them shouted in his direction, but he kept his hood up, and his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. All that he wanted was to clog his mind; keep it from running over, and keep himself from doing something that he regretted. The cool summer breeze didn't help. As it kissed his skin, he could only feel the cool metal of the steel chair colliding with his back; again, again, again, and again.

He pushed the image as far back in his mind as he could and tried to act normal as he entered the bar. He inwardly groaned upon realizing that it was busier than he thought it would be on a Monday night. There was one seat left at the bar, which he slid into, and propped his elbows up on the countertop.

"Hey, what can I get you?" The bartender asked.

_Revenge._

_A sledge-hammer._

_A steel chair._

_Seth Rollins._

"Do you have just, a PBR or something?" He asked. The man nodded and disappeared to find him a glass. A few moments later he sat the cold drink in front of Dean.

Dean nodded at the man. "Let me go a head and pay you for it. I don't know how many I'm going to have." He searched his pockets for his wallet before it registered that he had left it in the car.

"Oh, no, don't worry about it. It's on her." The bartender jutted his head in the direction of a young woman sitting on the opposite end of the bar. Dean frowned. He had enough cash in his pocket to cover this one and a few more drinks. He really wasn't in the mood to sign autographs and take pictures with random girls in bars just because they bought his one beer.

"Thanks, I guess." He mumbled, even though the bartender had already disappeared again.

He quickly glanced up at the girl, who was busy chatting away with her friend. His eyes caught hers, and he immediately began fumbling with his phone. There was a text from Roman, '_Hey man, I know you're out doing your thing or whatever, but I checked us into a hotel. It's the Hampton Inn. It's not far from the Fieldhouse. Room 213.'_

Dean finished his beer. He wasn't really in the mood for staying out much longer. He felt drowsy, and his back was still throbbing. When he looked up, he noticed that the sable haired girl was no longer sitting at her seat across the bar. He wanted to thank her before leaving, so that he didn't come off as rude. Her friend was still there, and now talking the ear off of the man who was sitting next to her. He glanced around, but she must have left.

"You look like you've had a rough night." He heard, as he stepped back out into the cool summer air. He turned to see the woman he was just looking for, leaning up against the brick wall, with a cigarette in between her fingers. He wasn't sure what to say, so he lazily nodded.

The silence was disturbingly awkward. This was why he didn't want to be around anyone.

"Thanks for the beer." He said softly.

"No problem," she had a beautiful smile. "You came in alone and looked like hell. It was the least I could do."

He grinned. "I don't want to press my luck, but is there any chance I could bum one of those off of you?" He asked, nodding toward her cigarette.

She rummaged through her bag, fishing out the box of Marlboros and a lighter. Dean noticed that she seemed unsteady when she wasn't holding herself up against the wall.

"I'm Ginnifer." She blurted, but second guessed herself immediately when he didn't respond. "Sorry."

He smiled as he inhaled a long drag of menthol. "Dean."

"Well Dean," she smiled brightly again. "It was a pleasure to meet you." Ginnifer sauntered to the door, holding on to whatever she could in order to keep her footing.

"You okay?" He asked.

She stopped and pushed her hair back, once again holding on to the wall. "Yeah, yeah."

"You do have someone to drive you home tonight, right?"

He wondered why he cared. She was probably perfectly fine.

"I'm not exactly from around here." She replied.

Or maybe not.

"What about your friend in there?"

"What friend?" She asked. "Oh, that girl… I just met her tonight."

Dean was torn. Does he let this girl go back inside, possibly drink more, and not make it to wherever she needed to go… Or does he invite her back to his hotel, to make sure that she stays out of harm's way, and risk coming off as a creepy pervert?

It wasn't out of character for him to regularly invite girls back to his room. But then again, those were usually girls who threw themselves at him. The girl in front of him was definitely not following suit. If he asked her to come back to his room, and she obliged, she would at least be safe, and off of the road, and maybe sleep with him, and tomorrow morning he'd leave and never see her again. If he asked her come back to his room, and she rejected him and thought he was some awful rapist, then he'd leave and never see her again. Either way, she wasn't from here, and neither was he. The chances of ever seeing her again were slim to none.

"Look, why don't you come back with me? My hotel is right up the block."

She looked taken aback.

He should've just let her go back inside.

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not sleeping with you."

Dean tried to keep from smiling. "I just want to make sure you don't get hurt. It's totally the right thing to do." He heard himself getting a little bit cocky, and he felt it too. There was something about getting girls to do things they didn't want to do that excited him. It was a game.

Ginnifer pursed her lips. She thought about it for a moment. She had been in these situations before. She had her fair share of one-night-stands. She has slept with many strangers. Each one of them ending horribly. Her answer should have been a straightforward 'no'. But he made her second guess herself. She didn't know what it was about him, she couldn't put her finger on it. He was an attractive man, that was the reason she bought him the drink. And he did look lonely and worn out. A sadness resonated in his oceanic eyes that he tried hiding with a gentle smile, but she could tell it was there, and that it was making his mind heavy.

He could be psychotic.

He could be a murderer.

But she didn't have enough money to rent herself a room. She didn't know where she was. Couldn't remember where she parked. At the moment, her only options were either wander the streets of Indianapolis, drunk, until she found her car, or accept Dean's offer.

She exhaled. "Okay."

Dean was surprised. "Wow, you're easy." He joked.

"Ha! Wipe that smile off of your face, sir. We're sleeping in separate beds."

"If there are separate beds. There might be only one." She faked a frown. "But, hey! At least you'll be safe. Think of it as me repaying you for the beer."

He held her hand as they walked. She tried her hardest not to sway off too much.

"I shouldn't have had so much to drink." She mumbled.

"We all do it from time to time."

"More like _every time_ for me."

He frowned. "It's okay. I'm not judging you."

Despite not wanting to spend time with anyone, Dean was actually glad she agreed to go with him. She was keeping his mind off of the knife that was still wedged in between his shoulder blades. The image of Seth standing with Hunter and Randy seemed like it was burned in the back of his eyelids. But his current situation made it a little more tolerable.

"Hey, you still in there?" Dean blinked a few times, and realized that he was standing in front of the Hampton Inn. "Is this it?"

"Yeah. I apologize, I was thinking about something."

"Your rough night?"

"Yeah, that."

Dean quickly retrieved the keycard from the front desk, and pressed the 'up' button to retrieve the elevator.

"It seems you might need to talk about it." She said, breaking the silence in the elevator.

"Nope."

The doors reopened.

"Why not?"

He didn't answer.

She sighed.

He slid the key in the door and held it open for her.

Her shoulders slumped when she saw that there was only one bed.

"What'd I tell ya?" He asked in a perky tone.

"I'm still not sleeping with you."

"Aw, come on. You have to now. We only have one bed."

"I'm not sleeping sleeping with you." She replied, poking his ribs. He winced. He was still in a good amount of pain. "I'm sorry." She whispered, when she noticed that he pulled away. "I get the window side."

Dean smiled, and watched as she cautiously made her way over to the right side of the bed. He leaned up against the wall, eyeing her as she kicked off her shoes, cracked her toes, and stretched before sliding her jeans down her curvaceous hips.

She could feel his eyes on her; burning a hole into her back. "You don't mind, do you?" She asked.

"Not if you don't." He replied, sliding out of his jacket. She shook her head, her gaze wandering over his figure. "It's rude to stare, you know?"

"Funny, coming from you."

He sat down on the end of the bed and pulled off his shirt.

Ginnifer gasped, noticing the bruises and welts that adjourned his muscular back.

"It look that bad?"

"What happened to you?"

"Rough night."

She moved over to where he was sitting and sat cross legged behind him. "May I?"

He replied with a simple head nod, allowing her hands to softly explore the marks that Seth made earlier that night. Her hands were cold, and her smooth touch sent chills up his spine. It felt wrong letting a stranger in like he was. He may not have been telling her his whole life's story, but many people didn't get to see Dean Ambrose like this. Seth had stripped him down. He was a live wire; exposed and unpredictable, and in Ginnifer's case, vulnerable.

"Am I hurting you?" Her soft voice broke through his thoughts.

"No."

"But it does hurt?"

"Like hell."

She frowned. She wanted to know who had done this to him and why. Her judgement may have been slightly impaired, but she felt like Dean was a nice guy. Definitely not deserving of this kind of torture; physically and mentally.

Dean turned to face her.

Her hands never left him.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you didn't do anything wrong."

"No, I'm sorry that someone hurt you. I'm sure you di-"

Before she could finish, Dean softly pressed his lips to hers. He just wanted to forget about it; Seth, Roman, the pain. Everything, and everyone, Dean wanted to forget about all of it.

"Dean, you're taking advantage of me." She whispered as she pulled away, breathless.

He chuckled. "I think it's the other way around, sweetcheeks."

"I'm the drunk one!"

"I'm the hurt one!"

She smiled. "Let's just go to bed."

She pulled the covers down and tucked herself in. Dean came up behind her, wrapping his arm around her middle.

"I'm not sleeping with you." She said once more.

He over-exaggeratedly sighed, removing his hands from her and turning on to his back. "Fine."

She smiled, though he couldn't see.

A few moments later, she turned to her other side and snuggled up against his side.

He grinned. "Goodnight, Ginnifer."

"Goodnight, Dean."


End file.
